Transition
by One Foot Forward
Summary: A five part story epilogue; [starting from 1.11] / complete
1. pt 1

**AN: **Sometimes the hardest decisions are the ones you know you have to make.

(I can't help think that this was the only way; something to chew on before Wednesday and the crushing of my plotline dreams)

* * *

She's running, running before she can really process it, and all she can think is _I killed a man I killed a man_ and it hardly makes a difference that he was a grounder, that he was talking about killing her _family_ (the Ark was home, the Ark was home, but now there is a group of miscreants who are hers) or that he had _scars_ for the people he had killed - he was a _person_ and she'd _killed_ him, calculating, cold even; gods, Bellamy would be proud, _she'd killed a man_ -

And then she's in the air, faster than the wind can escape her lungs, and she's upside down, blood pounding into her head to the beat of _dead dead dead_, and she killed a man, and

.

.

.

She dreams of winter, of a white so strong that it stretches across the world, a blanket of cold and crystalline. She's dressed in furs and hard armour, her hair is tied back in a high ponytail, and her palm are encased in leather, fingertips free, free to move and dig and spread flat into the icy world that is in front of her. Each tree is dipped in snow, every inch of the world is covered and _quiet_, it is so silent that it's ominous, but it is also peaceful, and she has always admired the Earth's stoicism to the terror rained upon it.

She's dressed in white furs, and all she can think about is _the books never tell you about the beauty, they only tell you about the cold_, and then someone is calling her name.

(somewhere deep down she knows they need her, that this was a healing mission, not exploration, but it is hard to tear her eyes away)

But then a hand is clasped on her shoulder, turning her, facing her towards a man with ink across his skin and urgency in his gaze, and she runs with him.

.

.

She's surprised that she wakes, not because the dream was so tempting (it was) but because she hadn't expected to live through the night, especially when her eyes peel open only to be greeted by none other than Anya herself. True to her nature, Clarke only blinks, slowly, trying to process what had happened, what was happening, and if there was still time to fix it.

The Grounder Queen is pissed, is standing next to a dead guards body (dead_, _dead_, dead_), but she isn't killing Clarke.

(and that is how she knows what she must do)

Sitting up is painful, but is also somehow easier with no one there but an angry grounder to see her struggle. She groans and leans heavily back on her arms, but she is upright and the world is clear and her path is as well.

"Have you done it?" She asks, looking around for someone, Finn maybe, or even another grounder, but there is no one. They're back in the same little bunker as before, except Clarke is on the patient table, and two are dead. "Have you killed everyone?"

_Have you destroyed my home?_

"No." Anya keeps her gaze on her, a steady look which holds no secrets.

Clarke gulps, brings a hand to her head where there is still pounding. "Is my friend dead?"

_Finn, Finn pulling her in the water, Finn with a two headed deer, just for her, Finn dying on the table -_

"No." Anya repeats, and this time her scowl is the message, the slight downturn of lips that says Clarke has a chance. Clarke can choose to save everyone, if only because Finn is alive and Anya is frowning and Clarke is a medic.

They are on the same page, because all Clarke says is, "We can stop this before it is a war."

Anya agrees. "What we needed was a healer," and she looks back down, to the _dead_ "but I see you are also a warrior."

Idly Clarke wonders if killing one of them will earn her a scar, if by joining their brotherhood she'll have to follow their customs. "I'm not a warrior, I'm a fighter."

"Is there a difference?"

"To me there is."

Perhaps there is hope for Anya nods as if this makes sense. "They will all live, as long as they do not fight back."

"They won't."

"And there can be no more bombs."

There's something to this, a clause or a treaty, because in ninety-seven years was it foolish to think that no one had restored to gunfire again, but Clarke nods anyway.

Anya continues to stare at her, perhaps reading the uncertainty. "Can you really speak for them?"

And she won't lie, so she admits, "No...but I can speak to the one that can."

(although to even think that Bellamy would agree to _no bombs_ is a bit of a stretch, but he'll have, he'll _have to_, because the burden will be so heavy with her gone and the Ark isn't coming down and he'll have to understand)

"You will come with us, and we will leave them alone."

It's all Clarke could ask for, because she somehow knows that this was never a war they could finish, that there were always going to be too many of them to fight back against...and that she could never clearly divide between _us_ and _them_, only _dead_ and _alive_. And Anya is violent and mean but somehow seems fair as well, as if those terms were never exclusive, and maybe it won't be so awful.

Clarke takes in a deep breath, and holds it, holds onto life with a steady count of the pauses in between heartbeats. This is life, and this is control, she is in control of her decisions.

And she decides.

"Take me back to my people." She stares at Anya in the same manner she is looked at, not glancing at the _dead_ but looking cold and hard and like she could be a leader. "And I will leave with yours."

.

.

.

It's difficult, convincing several less than a hundred that she chose this, she wants this (because she doesn't, she wants home, she wants her _mom_, but life doesn't make allowances for desperation), but it isn't too hard to convince Bellamy that it is their only option.

(surprise)

"I don't like it."

She's scrambling around the med-bay, the place she had called hers, trying to leave some sort of note or message or instruction for them to follow, so that when they get sick they don't die, if they get cold they don't die, if they fall they _don't_ _die_, but there's no paper and what she really needs is to have been training someone this whole while.

(she thinks that Octavia would have liked to learn, because Octavia is demanding and can be heard, but is also benevolent and _kind_, and they need some of that, someone who doesn't hate on sight)

"Clarke." His voice is firm, and besides there's no paper, so she turns around. His eyes are looking straight into hers, and it has always been this way, the both of them too headstrong to do anything less than know each other's soul. "I don't like it."

"You don't have to like it Bellamy, you just have to agree."

He crosses his arms. "What if I don't? You're already back in camp, they can't force you out."

"You know that isn't an option."

"It could be."

And she thinks that maybe she misjudged him, maybe he would go up in arms for her (for the doctor), but she shakes her head. "They'll kill all of you."

Because it is Bellamy, the rebel prince turned leader turned king, he understands. "I still don't like it."

She sighs. "Yeah, me neither."

They stare at each other for a long while, and she knows that this if her send off. She can't see Finn (he's either passed out or hunting her down already, _something_, but he isn't here and she doesn't have the heart to say goodbye) and Jasper is tending to Monty (recently returned, after being kidnapped and beaten, but only slightly), and Clarke doesn't really need to see anyone else.

She hadn't been here long enough to need to see anyone else.

"Tell Octavia," and she gulps, blinks quickly "tell her that the book in my tent, the one with my drawings, it has some medical stuff in the back. Mixes and procedures and things. I wrote some of them down because I knew we'd eventually have to teach them, and she's really good with this stuff -"

Clarke."

"-and tell Finn..." she scrambles for the words, but there aren't any that would work, so she settles on, "tell him that this is the only way, and that he can't chase after me. I don't _want_ him to. And make sure that when you rebuild the smokehouse that you put it away from camp this time, just in case, although maybe put one of your guards in charge because they follow orders better-"

"_Clarke_."

She blinks and looks at him, because this is important. "What?"

He's looking at her, she's still running in circles and the look in his eyes isn't a plea or a disagreement, just a statement; they're leaders, both of them had sacrificed and struggled to keep these teenagers alive and happy and they're comrades at the very least. He understands because he would do that same, and he doesn't like it but there are grounders in the camp with her, grounders who will escort her out and this might be the last time she'll ever see any of them again.

He _understands_, and she's close enough that all he has to do is reach out and he's laying a hand on her shoulder, rough, tight, and, "We can't do this without you."

It is still not an argument. She smiles. "Thanks Bellamy."

And she knows her time is up, this wasn't really a goodbye mission so much as a contractual one, and she nods out to the direction of the wall entrance. "They say that as long as you stop fighting, they won't retaliate for anything that's happened so far. You can all continue to live here just don't go past the perimeter - that's the river that we crossed our first night here, so Jasper can tell you where it is."

"I know where it is."

"And Bellamy, the bomb thing...respect that."

When he had first heard her terms (their terms?) he'd protested, he had pulled her away and threatened to shoot them and for a brief second Clarke had believed that there was another way out. But this wasn't a threat which could be vanquished with a few dead grounders, it was one which would end in bloodshed on all sides, but probably mostly just theirs.

And Bellamy had relented. "I know."

"They're wary of them I think, but that makes sense, and...we can do better than our ancestors."

"Clarke, I told you I agreed." He looks at her, long and hard, like the day they had met. "We keep the guns."

She nods. "They said nothing about those." And she hadn't wanted to ask.

"Keep inside the line, don't attack first, don't use bombs," he glances at her, frowning, "and you go with them."

She reaches her hand up to lay over top of the one he has on her shoulder, because really, this is the _last_ _time_, and nods. "They need a healer. I'm a...I'm an asset."

He surprises her by reaching forward and pulling her into him, a jostling embrace. And she can't see his face, hers tucked into the junction between his neck and shoulder, but she thinks that he's still frowning. "You're a friend." His grip tightens. "Life here won't be the same without you."

He's going to be the only one able to say it, because Jasper is with Monty and Finn is somewhere Not Here, and Clarke thinks that this is all she needed out of a goodbye anyway, the knowledge that this is the right decision. So she raises her arms and hugs him back, taking in his acceptance.

"Don't let them die."

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	2. pt 2

**AN: **Because travesty can last forever.

* * *

The grounders have a camp, but maybe it would be better to call it a village. The structure of it is confusing, which is probably on purpose, and there's so many of them - poking their heads out of their houses, stopping in their tracks as Clarke and the others trek through - that she is grateful she came back without a fuss, because these people would have _destroyed_ them.

Still, she can't help but be fascinated, on top of every other emotion (sorrow, so strong, fear, and bitter resignation...really, what's one more?) because…it isn't just horses they have, but chickens and _dogs_ of all things, animals living and breathing and surviving.

-then they shove her into a hut which reeks of death, tell her to acquaint herself with the instruments, before locking the door and leaving her to her fate.

(_I chose this I chose this I chose this_ thrums steady through her mind and she begins poking around)

.

.

The first patient they bring her isn't as near death as the last, and Clarke saves him. It isn't easy (nothing ever is) because he's bleeding into this thoracic cavity and his chest is bulging but Clarke has seen this before and she saves him.

He's a young boy, to her at least, and only has three scars.

It's not so bad.

.

.

It isn't until she treats her fifth patient that the grounders let her out without a watcher, although maybe that is only because she has to keep to the village where there are eyes aplenty. Clarke doesn't really care though because it isn't like she would leave if she could, because she had made a deal and was good for her word (knew that if she wasn't good for her word everyone left that she loves and cares for is dead).

She walks through dirt paths and visits the horses, she'd been dreaming of them ever since she'd seen them, and thinks of _home_.

It's funny now, how that only elicits memories of a camp huddled in greenery and surrounded on all sides by enemies. She wonders how Bellamy is holding up, if Jasper and Monty have finally figured out how to cultivate inside the wall, if Octavia is still as spunky as ever, with her added responsibilities. She thinks of Finn (but not for too long) and Raven, of Miller and Murphy, even Charlotte and Wells.

(fourteen dead was always too many)

Her chest aches.

.

.

Winter is swift to come, and now Clarke is sent on missions with Anya and the rest, because sometimes when the group is injured they also become hypothermic. The grounders have some sort of step-by-step protocol for treating it, which is remarkably accurate, but it is always better to have a medic on hand (for the injured and the dying and the ones best killed before that), and Clarke is grateful because it means she can stretch her legs and explore the world; it is the last blessing she has left.

She still keeps her clothes on from the Ark but wraps herself in a cloak that her watcher had given her. His name is Bryant and, asides from being a bit too silent for her tastes, he isn't the worst person in the world to be surrounded by.

(she doesn't know how many scars he has)

When she is tending to her third patient of the day, a potentially fatal arrow in the side, Clarke musters up the courage (or perhaps it is the interest) to ask about the injuries. About why, if they are no longer fighting intruders like the hundred, are they constantly in battle, and whether or not this has been going on since the war (because they have protocols in place for arrows to the chest, _protocols_ because this is normal).

-and she learns about the clans, stretched across the continent and making uneasy truces along the way, about fighting for your right to territory and the risks expansion poses...as well as the rewards. Anya doesn't say much, but her (new) second doesn't bear the same unwillingness, and before long Clarke is bundled up in a blanket, back at camp, and is listening to the remarkable history of the last ninety-seven years on Earth.

.

She had never, in her wildest dreams, imagined that life would continue throughout radiation and mayhem, and these people aren't terror wrapped in violence, they're _survivors_.

.

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Spring comes late, according to Terri (her new helper) and they lose seven by summer. This is apparently normal, but is still too many and Clarke devotes herself to learning everything the grounders have to offer in terms of medical expertise, of herbs and methods and customs. There are things about this planet they know that she does not, and it would be a blight on her self-respect not to absorb it all. Bryant watches her even more carefully than normal and when she falls asleep by the edges of the village she wakes up in her bed.

She isn't sure what to make of everything, it has been months and it is still not enough time (might never be enough time) to acclimate to this new life. So she never says anything except _thank you_ and _pass the scalpel _and Terri and Bryant whisper behind her back.

She nurses the illness out of the youngest of three boys, children to the local seamstress, and finds herself the new owner of several pieces of leather and fur as a result. There are outfits suitable for the humid heat of mid-June, and ones which clasp in several layers and will protect her from the cold. The latter ones are white (better to hide) and Clarke is taken back to a dream and an operating table and realizes that she is no longer anything but a grounder herself.

(she spends the next several days in her hut, sleeping next to the medical supplies, unwilling to leave)

.

.

When she can no longer stand to ruminate in the same dank room, Terri takes her out to a patch at the edge of the village and shows her where the wildflowers grow. They are beautiful and entirely unnecessary, except Terri says that sometimes it is the things in life which aren't sustaining that are the most important. She says that Clarke has lost her wonder, and that is a crime, so her and the girl spend an entire evening watching petals turn luminescent and talking about boys and stories and family and never about the future.

.

The next day she asks to learn how to fight, how to move through the trees the way the grounders do, and Terri and Bryant become her guides to acclimation (and maybe salvation, just maybe)

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Anya calls a meeting in late summer, when food is the most plentiful and autumn is just around the corner, and invites Clarke to join in. Apparently healers have always had an important place in the society of the grounders (they have a name, Clarke knows, their own name, but she'll never be able to think of them as anything else) and it is tradition that they attend meetings such as these. It isn't about war or about strategy, it's about a festival, so there really isn't any risk in her attending anyway.

The point of the day is to indulge in the meats and fruits which don't keep past summer, things which aren't worth smoking or drying out. It is better, Bryant says, to take your fill while you can, for sometimes winter is not so kind and food becomes scarce, and like bears they build on layers now so as to survive later.

(Terri says it is really just a great excuse to party)

The bitterness has leaked out of her by now, left only grudging resignation and teetering commitment, and while Anya tells her she isn't certain of her loyalty, Clarke has proven her word. The festival occurs near the anniversary of her departure from her people, and she's forced to agree that while she might never belong to the grounders, she is never going to leave them either. A life is a life, no matter who's, and they aren't evil, just different.

It has only taken her a year of captivity to accept.

(the festival itself is like nothing she has seen before - Unity Day was always so stiff, the dances on the Ark always monitored, and the parties on the ground had been tinged with fear…this holiday is filled with nothing but joviality and gratitude, and by the end of the evening Clarke is huddled next to a group of women, singing the songs with them, and she is happy

she is _happy_)

.

When the next day hits and Clarke realizes that celebratory juice isn't so celebratory in the morning, she wakes Terri and the two of them make herbal tea for anyone interested. They spend most of the early hours of the sun walking around camp and handing it out to the most raucous from the night before, and when Bryant stumbles in to Clarke's hut mid-afternoon, saying nothing, but holding a hand flat to his skull and groaning into a cup of tea, they dissolve into giggles as bright as the day itself.

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Winter comes, and it is her second winter (her _second_ winter) with the grounders, and this causes the sadness to pour over her again, nostalgia making it nearly as strong as the first time. Thankfully there is plenty to distract her, for politics on the ground are just as unsteady as those in the sky, and Anya leaves for a week to tend to a diplomat's whims, and returns with the urgent need for a healer and the willpower to halt a war.

(allowing one of the other clans' member to die, Terri says, would be seen as the same as killing him themselves, regardless of whether or not it was his own damn fault for tempting fate)

So she packs up her stuff and follows the guards out of the village. The plan is simple, really; some of the warriors scout ahead, pile through the snow and muck and such to make sure that there are no traps or dangers lurking ahead, and then signal back for Bryant and Clarke to follow. Evidently the diplomat (Anya called him a _haoele_ but she said it like an insult so Clarke sticks with diplomat) had chosen to stay in his own 'house' of sorts, a little ways off the grounders' land, and there is real danger in traversing unclaimed territory.

This winter Clarke wears the gifts given to her by the seamstress, is dressed in white furs and silver clasps and dons a mask of her own, to keep the wind out of her face. Her and Bryant stay in the trees, waiting for the sound of a safe path, and she grips her medical supplies tighter to her chest (Anya hadn't explained what the injury was, had just told her to follow and scurried back off and Clarke has no idea what to expect). Bryant has become less of a watcher and more of a bodyguard, because no matter where she is Clarke's skills are important, and sort of like a friend as well, and they watch in companionable silence.

.

It is in the peace of the snow fall, drifting white all around them, that Clarke first hears their voices. It has been a year (_more than a year_) but it would be impossible to mistake the authoritative-borderline-pompous tone as anyone other than _him_, and Clarke remembers that she only told Bellamy about staying behind the river, never about expanding in the other direction.

(maybe unclaimed territory would be better asserted as _unidentified_)

Her heart is pounding in her chest, thrumming like the night she had left, and she glances up at Bryant, who is in the tree branch above her, and raises an eyebrow (as if she is calm, as if this means nothing more to her than another day in the field). Below them she hears murmurs, but ignores it until he eventually nods, a bone-weary sigh escaping him with the muted utterance of, "just until the signal sounds."

She grins, the only part of her face really visible behind the wooden bird on her face, before swinging down and out of the tree. She lands with a soft _thump_, footsteps muted by the fallen snow, and glances up.

Bellamy and Jasper stare back.

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	3. pt 3

**AN: **For every coin has two sides.

* * *

.

.

Life without Clarke had been hard, especially since Bellamy spent the first few weeks of it in an absolute rage. Just because he understood why she had to leave, even why the grounders had wanted her in the first place, didn't mean it tempered the injustice of the situation in the least. He'd lost a medic and a friend (the only one who had been there to understand how _hard_ this all was, who knew about his mother and his sister and who held him accountable to his actions, but who also supported his decisions, who empathized with the difficulty of making the awful choices) and most importantly he had lost the one person in the camp who could help him do the impossible.

Lead.

Clarke had been the one to bring him back down when his anger went too far, but now she was _gone_ and that was _infuriating_ and she wasn't there to tell him to suck it up and get over himself, (she had already made the hardest decision of all, she was too fucking self-sacrificial and ideal and she was probably already _dead dead dead_, because there was no way a softie like Clarke was going to survive the grounders).

-sometimes he remembered the supply depo, how Clarke had held a gun and felt power, how she had attacked a man to defend him, and he thinks she might be alright-

And then, as always, life went on. Octavia become proficient with what she had been left, and guards had always been required to take basic first aid so Bellamy taught others some of that. With winter around the corner, the group had stuck to hunting within their range and stockpiling supplies, because there was no other option except to buckle down and hope for the best.

(every time they passed near the river, Bellamy stood on the banks of the shore and stared over to the other side)

.

.

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The found their rhythm, that first winter, the careful balance between protesting when things were wrong and accepting when things were just tough. Sometimes, when Bellamy had a really difficult decision to make, he sought out his sister or Jasper (who had turned out to be a really good second, although perhaps not as charismatic as Miller) or even Spacewalker, just to try and get a feel for what to do (because Clarke had trusted them and had taken their advice, and it became a thing, among them, when decisions were hard, they'd play the _what would princess do_ and try and follow in her footsteps).

Her departure had changed camp somewhat, and it had become quieter, and that was what that first winter had been all about, accepting that silence and moving on.

.

Spacewalker had never been the same though (and _good_, thought Bellamy, why should he) and spent most of his time volunteering for the more reckless missions, scouting into territory they hadn't explored yet, or tracking down wildlife that was a bit too dangerous to be taken down alone.

Bellamy hated him most of the time, because he was even more idealistic (unrealistic) than the princess had ever been, but they'd been friends (or more) so he always made sure to send someone with him and bring him back alive.

(it wasn't until the first signs of spring that Raven finally moved in with Finn, because Clarke wasn't coming back and Spacewalker was on a downward spiral, and oddly enough it worked for the both of them, dealing with that grief, and they become inseparable)

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.

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Communications with the Ark came back up in summer, a full six months since they'd believed themselves to be the last of the space-age on Earth, and although it would take decades to rebuild a ship capable of making the descent, it meant that they weren't alone out here.

.

(councilwoman Abby was alive too, not that Clarke would ever know)

.

In summer they began building, and it wasn't just tents and a wall (which was obsolete now that they had no one to worry about, but Bellamy made sure there was still a perimeter in the new landscape) but also houses made of wood and cloth and permanence. They spread out as far as they could without losing sight of one another, and without breaching any territory lines, and then set up their new home. It would take all of summer and autumn, and likely even the early signs of winter, to finish, but this was where they lived now.

They refurbished the drop ship to make it into a more official medical bay, and since Octavia needed to live there, Bellamy made sure his place was right next door. It became the official meeting place for the one hundred (less fifteen now), a political discussion board, and they become less of a dictatorship and more of a public forum whereby Bellamy had final say, but everyone else had some too.

-they believed in second chances, punishment never again took the form of banishment, and if Bellamy was to be the new king, he used to voice of Clarke in his head as the queen

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A sickness came in late fall and took two of their own, but Octavia and Murphy (and who had seen _that_ coming, a reintegrated _asshole_ becoming the right hand medic) had fought tooth and nail to make sure it wasn't any more than that, and it could have been worse but it wasn't, and although fourteen became sixteen (maybe seventeen, although no one would ever suggest anything out loud) they were still surviving.

.

.

Every time he thought of peace, made a speech about gratitude for being on Earth and being alive when so many other things could have gone to shit, he thanked Clarke, even if only in his head, for seeing far enough into the future to recognize what they could be.

And when they decreed it time to have another party, to celebrate before the next winter blasted through, he found his house occupied by all of the drunks who had known her (Jasper, Monty, Finn, Raven, Octavia, Murphy, Connor, _hell_, it was pretty much everyone) and realized that his family had changed once more, shrunken from _father mother _to _mother_ to _mother sister_ to pretty much just Octavia, and then grown to encompass all of the people who had flown down with him. And together they talked about everything and nothing and sometimes Clarke, and this was how they found peace.

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Winter came (again) and it seemed harsher than the last, so Bellamy set off with Jasper at his side to hunt for some real food to keep his people warm; they had already shut down half of the houses that hadn't been finished yet, and stockpiled everyone into the ones closest to the med bay, because bodies generated heat and it was all they had at the moment. Meat would go a long way that berries and nuts couldn't.

The snow fell all around them, and it was different than last year, when living through the cold hadn't been a guarantee, so Bellamy breathed in and held on to the taste of _life_ captured under his tongue, drifting softly onto his face.

It was peaceful until it wasn't, because Jasper had found footprints, and was anything but quiet about pointing them out. It had been so long since the threat of grounders had been heavy on his back, and true to his word Bellamy had never led anyone over the river line.

-that perhaps the grounders were no longer keeping their word made him spiral.

Before he could turn back to Jasper (to say _what_ he didn't know, because sure they had stockpiled weapons _just in case_ but none of them were with them, just some low-grade ammo guns) a shape fell from the sky, pure white wrapped in silver, coiling down on their feet and then straightening up in the next instant (to lessen the impact, Bellamy knew). The person – _woman_ – was wearing leather and fur, had a pack on her back and a wooden mask of a bird on her face, carefully carved, and had blonde hair so achingly familiar that Bellamy was tempted to shoot on sight.

Then she smiled (_her_) and took off the mask, tucking it into the breast of her outfit, never taking her eyes off of them.

"Hey," Clarke grinned at them "you miss me?"

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	4. pt 4

**AN: **accepting your fate is difficult only when you know its path

[if anyone is curious, I sketched out an image of what Clarke's outfit looks like, and it's kind of crappy and just meant to be a reference, but I posted it on my tumblr nonetheless; link is in my bio]

* * *

"It's…" Jasper was the first to speak, although not coherently "I, uh…sorry, _Clarke_?"

He turns to Bellamy, who hasn't turned from her, and whispers, "am I going crazy, or do you see her too?"

She continues to look at her old comrade, leader in arms, the smile still on her face (though growing tighter by every second) as he slowly nods.

"Good." Jasper says. "I was worried I'd had some bad nuts again or something."

Clarke snorts, like a day hasn't passed, and this seems to be some sort of sign because before she knows it she is enveloped in an embrace (two, technically) and even though it is the coldest day so far, she has never felt warmer. She doesn't hesitate to return the gesture, one hand on each of the guys' back, and she breaths them in.

"You're _alive_," Bellamy is saying, and Jasper nods into her other side, "really alive."

They let go, although don't really step away, and Clarke scrubs at her face (she hadn't cried). "Yeah, of course I am."

But she understands, because she can't stop taking in the sight of the two of them, as if it might not actually be real (they had made it through a whole year, a _whole year together_, they had new clothing on their back and looked _healthy_ and everything had been worth it).

"So, uh…" She lets out a deep breath, a shaky laugh, "wow I don't know where to start."

They don't either, for they just stare at her, eyes roaming from the fur to the leather to her face (she's wearing the face paint, _right_, she'd forgotten because it had become normal, so many things had become normal to her that just _weren't_).

"How about – well, the last year I guess?" Bellamy suggests eventually, but he's grinning at her, and it's a rare smile, easy to come, and so many things have changed.

"Not much to tell." She glances up quick, but can't see Bryant. "Things have been fine."

"_Fine_, like, good fine or bad fine, because there's a difference." Jasper follows her gaze, but she snaps it back down to him as soon as he speaks.

"Good fine. You?" She looks between the two of them eagerly. "You two look good. Great actually." She glances down at their boots, lined with fur, as if this spoke volumes.

(it _does_ though)

"Yeah, things have been great."

"We built houses."

"_Houses_?" Clarke murmurs, smiling. "With like…windows and things?"

"Yup! Although not with glass and that." Jasper shuffles on his feet, his gun loose in his hand (she hasn't seen those in _eons_ it feels like). "But there are doors with handles and everything."

"Wow." And she means it.

"Oh!" Jasper's eyes widen. "Oh my god, that's right, you wouldn't know." He pauses, and whether it is for dramatic tension or permission she doesn't know, but it grates anxiously. "Clarke, your mother's alive."

And it breaks. She feels herself tearing up almost immediately and blinks back the moisture in her eyes. "What?"

Bellamy is the one to confirm it, and despite their differences she knows he wouldn't lie just to comfort her, and she reaches for his hand. She gets his wrist instead, his fingers sliding over the pulse on her arm, and she is certain he can feel the steady _thump tha-thump tha-thump_ that is her heart leaping out of her chest. "They made contact a few weeks after you left. She wasn't on the Exodus ship."

She can't quite see straight. "She wasn't?"

"No, there was an uprising and it…it doesn't matter. She's alright. They can't come down straight away, but yeah, she's alive."

This time her smile threatens to break her face in two, and when she can finally comprehend this she stares up at Bellamy, then to Jasper. "Oh god. _Thank you_."

They grin and she grins, and for a moment the rose-tinted view is everything she has ever wanted.

(it can't last)

When her senses return she quickly stands up straight, retracting her hand and taking a small step back. Her mother being alive (oh god, oh god, _thank god_) is earth-shattering news, but she doesn't have time to sit down and process it fully, to _appreciate_ it fully, because there are still things she wants to know and there is no _time_ and

"How is everyone?" she asks, her eyes on the ground, but she glances up as she speaks.

Bellamy looks at Jasper. "They're good," he says, turning to her again (it is heard to tear away from his gaze, and she understands it is because this whole thing is so _surreal_). "Octavia practically lives in the med bay, so I blame you for that." She laughs, though it's shaky. "And Murphy follows her everywhere these days-"

"_Murphy_, really? He's still there?"

"Yeah." His smile turns down slightly. "Lots has happened."

Silence passes over, real questions turn in their heads, she can practically see it, and since this might be the last time (again) that she sees them she lets Bellamy ask,

"Why are you here? Have the grounders," he gulps, "have they let you go?"

He sounds almost hopeful, wistful at the very least, and Jasper is nodding quickly and looking at her like it would be possible to grab her and run…she almost wishes she didn't have to say _no_.

"It isn't that simple," this time when she looks up to the trees, she lets them follow her line of sight "I'm actually on a field mission, if that makes sense."

"This isn't grounder territory though."

She glances back at them in surprise. "Right, you know about that."

When Bellamy nods she can practically hear his line of thought (_you said river_) and she smiles again.

"I'm just waiting –"

As if by magic (or really impeccable hearing) this is when Bryant chooses to drop out of the trees, looking entirely _grounder_ and none the part of friendly guard dog. He lands behind her, although close enough that his chest brushes her back, and Clarke can see the trepidation forming in her friends' eyes almost as soon as he uncoils himself.

He leans down to speak into her ear. "It is time, we must go."

She looks at him out of her periphery. "Already?"

"Yes."

"I can't-"

"Clarke."

And she remembers the reason she is here, it is for peace, not her peace necessarily, but peace nonetheless, and so she nods. "Okay."

When she turns back to Jasper and Bellamy they have their guns stiff in their hands and she thinks that they would restart a war if they saw her being threatened again. It chills her.

"This is the field mission," she says, glancing to the guns, "so uhm…it was good to see you."

"_Good to see–_" Jasper says, at the same time that Bellamy goes, disbelievingly, "You're _leaving_ already?"

But Bryant is pulling her away (who knows how long the safety zone lasts) and it is so much like a dream that Clarke allows it. She grabs her mask quick and pulls it down over her face.

"Bye," she says, whispers into the wind, but they are already running, her and Bryant down the hillside, towards (relative) safety.

And it was nice and satisfying and _worth it_ to see them, but the stinging of a missed life comes pounding through her with each footstep, and she feels heavy.

(she can't bear to see them again)

.

.

.

They watch her run away, fading slowly into the never-ending whiteness of the horizon, and Bellamy thinks that it was a mistake, letting her go (again). It is odd, because while he had always wondered if she would survive her time with the grounders, if they would treat her with the same violence they had threatened everything else, he had never wondered at what it would be like if she had. Clarke was a _good_ soul, a good person, and it would be strange to think she would hold on to her hatred for long.

(_he_ had, he had held on to his hatred and his spite and his doubts, and it only took the sight of her and _them_ to bring it all back)

"Jasper?" He calls, and whatever daze the other man was in he quickly snaps out of it at the sound of Bellamy's voice.

"Yeah?"

"It's getting too late to hunt," he glances around, at the sun that is only partly through its descent, at the frozen field before them, "let's come back tomorrow."

And if Jasper suspects anything, all he says is, "good idea" and packs up his stuff and the two of them trample off to camp together.

.

.

The situation is worse than she had thought, and the diplomat (Anya continues to call him a haoele and maybe it isn't as insulting as she'd thought or maybe Anya just doesn't care) is only a skinny teenager who had decided to wrestle with a boar. And lost.

Clarke manages to salvage the damage, thankful that if someone had to get speared on a _tusk_ (for _gods sake_) that at least it was in the lower abdomen, where her knowledge is a bit more complete. It is the surrounding tissue that has her worried, something about the animal that he had been struck with leaving angry red patches around the wound, and with a heavy sigh she declares the only possible course of action to be follow up.

And, predictably, Anya disagrees with the healer staying so far away, so they run back to fetch Terri, who will stay with the diplomat, while Clarke accepts that she'll have to make this trek a few more times (at least) to check up on the man. They agree on a schedule and Bryant and her run a different path home

(it is nowhere near the one hundred's camp)

(she cannot decide if she is grateful or spiteful but she goes to bed early either way)

.

.

.

Three days later Bryant tells her that he has received word from their leader and they are to head back late that afternoon. It is a good day, for winter at least, the air is crisp and clean and the wind is nowhere to be found, so it is reasonable, she tells herself, to ask to leave early. After all, she has always liked to explore outside of the village.

(she isn't given many opportunities, between the trust issues and the loyalty thing, so she cherishes those she gets)

When she asks (tries to _tell_, but that doesn't always work), Bryant gives her what can only be described as a _look_, but nods his head and agrees. If they leave in the morning there will be a few hours to spare, and as long as he is with her he can keep an eye out for danger.

She is playing with fire, she knows, but it is a draw she finds herself unwilling to stop.

.

If Bellamy begins to drag them out to hunt with a vigor too strong for the time of the year, no one comments on it. Just as no one mentions anything about how he and Jasper keep roaming the same area, as if persistence is a good method for hunting, or how if they do return with catches they remain dejected.

No one says anything, and so Bellamy keeps his temper in check.

(it is foolish and childish, a hope so thin that with each day it threatens to snap, ridiculous and irrational…and _so_ worth it, for on the fourth day of hunting the same three acres of woodland, Clarke appears before them)

"Hey." She says, from out of nowhere, from behind them and they hadn't heard her or noticed her and it kind of freaks him out, but she's _here_.

They hadn't brought guns this time, but spears, and she looks down at the one in Jasper's hand with a raised eyebrow, and when they don't speak, says, "That's a little ironic, isn't it?"

Jasper laughs, although it is quick to die off. He does not take his eyes off Clarke. "Yeah, tell me about it."

(she's standing before them, all wildling, her mask tucked away but her face smeared with grounder paint, blonde hair wild where it is escaping the braided crown, yet she still looks like the girl who always had a plan, even a desperate one…she still looks like _Clarke_)

"So…" She trails off, hands in pocket while looking at them, and Bellamy snaps out of it.

"Do you have more time today?"

Clarke nods, running her fingers over the fur lining of her jacket; it piles around her neck and trails down one shoulder, the other one bared to reveal armour plating. She's silent for a moment, and Bellamy wonders if the same scene is playing out in her head, the one where she disappears from them, time and time again.

"Yeah, uhm," she looks up to the skyline, squinting her eyes, "I have until midafternoon I guess."

"What are you doing?"

She turns to Jasper and grimaces. "Damage control, really. Apparently there's more toxic stuff out there than just those fogs."

"Oh." He says, hand trailing up absently to toy with the area around his chest. The look in Clarke's eye as she follows the movement speaks volumes.

Silence falls again, and it is so…_ridiculous_, so entirely strange and useless that Bellamy wants to laugh.

Clarke is on the same page, evidently, because she straightens her hands out to her sides and chuckles. "This is odd."

"It is." He agrees.

She smiles and it's so genuine it _hurts_. "I guess I just…well, I never thought I would see you again." She glances between the two of them. "Any of you."

Because it's Clarke and because she's been gone so long, because everything about this situation skews him and destabilizes him, Bellamy is honest. "It's good to see you." He grins wide. "To see that you're doing okay, it makes things feel less…"

"Sacrificial." Jasper supplies, when the silence stretches too long, and his eyes dart to Bellamy's quick before returning to Clarke. "I mean, it kinda felt like you were marching to your death."

Bellamy's smile drops but his gaze never does, and when Clarke turns towards him he senses a stuttering behind her eyes, a wall of sorts. He sees it so clearly that it's a wonder when she says, "it wasn't so bad," and expects him to believe her.

When he only stares, spear stiff in his grip, she shuffles on her feet. "Well, it _isn't_ bad now. And you shouldn't feel guilty."

There's a buzzing in the back of his head, the one that reeks of guilt and poor choices, and he blames that for the whispered question that comes out of his throat. "_Why_?"

She blinks at him. "It was my choice Bellamy."

"We should have fought harder," he says, and he swallows back the tinge of panic that creeps through, "we should have found better choices."

"It was the _only_ choice." She bites back, and he thinks he hears fluster in her tone as well.

"That isn't true – "

"It _is_," and now her voice is rising, her fists curled at her sides, "and it is in the past, you can't change that."

The beat of his heart thrums out a tune of long-buried resentment, for the situation, for _everything_, but he understands. This is neither the time nor place, the sun is setting every second and –

–and she reaches forward to place a hand on his forearm, and it is comforting and startling but also out of place, for she soon removes it. "Look, I have more time today, but not a lot. Can we maybe just talk about something easier?"

Jasper mentions the camp and Clarke looks relieved, and when she glances his way he says, "sure thing princess," and she smiles.

For now that's all that matters.

.

.

They sit in the snow and they get soaking wet, but never cold, because Jasper has _so many_ stories and there's so much she has missed, and with every tale they regale her with her eyes get a little bit brighter, her shoulders relax a little more.

She's laughing before she knows it, and it is a laugh Bellamy hardly knew; they had always butted heads, and when they were agreeing about something it was never something good. The princess he had been familiar with had been headstrong and passionate, but she had also been so so serious. _This_ Clarke was revelling in the here and now.

She tells them a bit about the grounders' camp, about the animals and the people, but she never dwells on it for long. Instead she prods them about the friends she has left, and Jasper tells her all about Finn and Monty and Raven, and Bellamy chimes in about Octavia and the rest. She is delighted to hear about the political structure, how half the camp currently resides in Casa del Blake, and the grin she sends him shoots pinpricks of lightning straight through his spine.

All too soon the overbearing grounder (_Bryant_, Bellamy knows, from her stories) is soaring in from the sky, standing right next to Clarke and urging her to leave. The possessive side of Bellamy is furious all over again but the rational side, the one which makes him a leader, stays put, even as Clarke stands up and walks away.

But she says, "see ya," instead of _goodbye_ and Bellamy settles back.

.

(she had said _do better_, a year ago she had looked him in the eye with his hand on her shoulder and pleaded that he do _better_, and she had been talking about life and their ancestors, but Bellamy thinks of how close she is now, how easily torn away that reality is and, and

well, he plans on doing better)

.

.

The diplomat – Stefan, his name is Stefan – is getting better rather than worse, and Terri tells her his stats with a proud smirk on her face. Bryant and Anya ducked out of the makeshift cabin almost as soon as Clarke arrived, and the discord between where she had been an hour ago and what she is doing now is so stark that it feels like someone is pulling her in two.

She double checks Terri's assessment (_correct_) and then goes over the progress again (_still distressed_). The patches around the wound are angry and raw and prominent, but less so than a few days ago, and when Anya re-enters Clarke tells her that things look promising.

She still needs to come back, still needs to make certain that this political figure doesn't _die_, so Clarke gives Terri the small treats she'd bartered for, back at the village, and then leaves.

(she thinks back to a time when getting food sources was her biggest burden, when bartering for food was actually bartering for life)

(it was a mistake, she thinks, to see them, it hurt too much and it made her believe there might be another way, and that _sucked_)

.

.

When they meet again several days later Bellamy brings Octavia with him. He would have chosen differently, perhaps because Clarke might want to see different friends, perhaps because Octavia liked the idea of risk a little too much, but his sister had heard the news the moment Bellamy had told Jasper it was alright to spread it, and she'd insisted.

Besides, if he had brought anyone else, it would mean more time spent on _them_ instead of _her._

When Octavia catches sight of Clarke she gasps, a breathless laugh, and then she is running. Clarke manages a momentary look of shock, mostly directed at Bellamy, before she is caught in an embrace, and whether it is because it has been so long or because they had truly been friends, the hug lasts for a beat longer than necessary.

Clarke giggles and says, "Geez, you Blakes are always so touchy feely."

(Bellamy ignores the pointed look that his sister sends his way)

.

Clarke brings along a book the next time, but it is filled with her careful scrawl rather than printed text. Bellamy is the only one who had come, for it is a particularly harsh afternoon, and manages to flip through a few pages before the wind bests him.

Still, he recognizes it for what it is. "More medical stuff?"

She nods, the fur slipping off her shoulder in the strong breeze. Bellamy reaches forward and tucks it firmly around her neck, slipping the corners up and over her ears so that the whole thing acts as an insulated scarf (she's never careful enough with herself). "Yeah, I've been keeping track the whole time and…well, it wasn't too much work to make a second copy."

"For us?"

Her smile is soft. "Of course."

.

(the fourth time they meet, Bellamy brings her a sketchbook; her smile is radiant)

.

.

"How much longer do you have out here?"

It has already been several weeks, and he knows when he is pushing his luck, and when luck is just plain favouring him. Although the day is beautiful, warm even, for winter, he has brought no one else with him.

Clarke lets out a deep breath. "Not much." She's filled him in on the rudimentaries of what she's doing, so she adds, "He's pretty much healed, I just need to make sure that if he decides to throw himself into the line of fire again, it won't be these injuries that kill him."

"Well, with your skills, I'm sure he'll be fine."

Her eyes widen, but she smiles. "It is so weird hearing you compliment me."

"I'm just trying to butter you up." He teases.

"Oh, well then," she turns from him, gesturing with her hand, "please continue."

She is sitting in the sun, eyes closed and face tilted up, and he _knows_ she was never this relaxed when she lived with them, when she had to face life and death choices every day and then live with the consequences. It's a new side to Princess Clarke that he never thought he'd see (even when they lived on the Ark and her name had been but a whispered rumor), and it makes his next words easier to say.

"We need you back."

She chuckles. "That's a good one."

"I mean it."

Her grin droops, and she turns to look at him inscrutably. "Pardon?"

"You've been training one of their healers, correct?" She nods, momentarily, and he pushes on. "Then they don't need you anymore." He takes a deep breath. "_We_ do."

"Bellamy," and she's trying to keep the light tone in her voice, but it strains, "you've managed just fine without me."

He jostles closer to her, spreading a hand out on her knee. "Yeah, we've _managed_," and he spits the word out like a curse, "but we're building a society here."

"Bell-"

"You need to be in it."

She stares at him, her entire body stilled. "I don't. I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"_Can't_, you know that." She narrows her eyes. "Besides, with Octavia you guys can _learn_ – "

"Octavia is _trying_…and one day she could be great, but it is _you_ we need back. You belong with us Clarke." And he says her name so imploring that it almost sounds like a plea, like he's begging, and she should _want_ this anyway, and he takes back his hand.

"No," she says, and now she stands up, takes a step away, "no, I need to be keeping my promise."

He recognizes the tone in her voice as panic and remains seated. "You already have."

"I _haven't_, the terms were that I go with them."

"Not that you stay!"

It's a yell, definitely not the soothed appeal he was going for, and she responds in kind. "I can't leave!"

"I am saying that you can!"

"I _can't_."

She glares. He glowers back.

"And _what_ Bellamy," she says when he doesn't reply, her voice lowering into something akin to desperation, "piss of the grounders? Start a war again? You _know_ that I bought us peace."

"By selling yourself!" He does stand now. "Just because you happen to be someone with a useful skill – "

"So that's what this is about, my _skill_ – "

"Yes! I mean, no, it isn't just – "

"The only reason," she screeches, drawing herself towards him now, "I ever had any power in camp is because I was the only one capable of saving lives! So I made it so that you won't have to save lives, _I_ negated the threat, and you _agreed_ that it was the right choice!"

"I only _agreed_ to you leaving because we kept dying, no thanks to those savages – "

"They're not savages Bellamy." She scowls at his responding look. "They _aren't_, they just live differently than us."

"If they aren't savages, then talk them into coming back."

"It isn't that _easy_." She snarls.

He looms over her, "They'll never be your people," puts two hands on her shoulders, "_we're_ your people."

The anger doesn't dissipate, just mutes, and she sighs and it's irate. "You're always like this, jumping right to violence just to have your way."

"That's why –", he breaks off, looking away, the words _I need you_ trailing off into the wind. He inhales deeply. "Clarke, I didn't just listen to you because you were a medic, I listened to you because you were _right_."

She scoffs. "Sometimes."

"Yeah, exactly." When she doesn't start screaming back at him, he continues, "Look, you're still…you're still one of us, and nothing that happens can change that."

He'd thought this would make her smile, begrudging maybe, yet certainly _happy_, but she frowns instead. "You can't _say_ that to me." She sighs and steps away, out of his grasp. "You shouldn't."

"What do you mean?"

She stares up into the trees, her hands stiff at her sides. "Look…the only reason I can accept this new life is if I...if I cut myself completely from the old one. I thought that maybe…" she trails off, shaking her head, "but I can't do both. I _can't_ be half there and half here."

"Clarke…"

"Even if," her voice is tremulous, "even _if_ all that means is the hope that one day I might be able to go back. It'll destroy me Bellamy," she whispers, "it will."

He says nothing, only stares at her imploringly, and she takes another step back. "They _can_ be my people. One day."

"That's a _lie_." He whispers furiously.

Her gaze is sad and heartbroken and _final._ "Goodbye, Bellamy."

And she leaves.

.

(Bryant catches up with her quickly, says nothing about the tears on her cheek)

(he takes her hand to lead her home)

.

.

(she knew it would be a mistake)

.

.

.

The next time she is meant to show, she doesn't, and Bellamy finds himself in a panic.

(he hadn't meant to drive her away, he wasn't tossing out false hopes or half-mussed dreams, he was _serious_, they needed her, _he needed her_, the last year had been so tough on his own)

It is several hours later and as close to dark as he dares to get when her grounder friend drops down in front of him.

Bellamy scowls into the treeline. "Great, are you here to tell me to fuck off as well?"

The man is tall and _thick_, as wide across as two of Bellamy, and disturbingly silent. He's covered head to toe in dark greens and blacks, the face paint he wears thick across his cheeks, and Bellamy would be more frightened if he wasn't already pissed off.

(it has worked for him before, using the anger to combat the anxiety)

"Well?" He asks, when he makes no sign of moving.

The responding voice is deep and clear. "You are the leader of the alien camp, correct?"

_Alien camp, what the – _ "What of it?"

The man (_Bryant_) considers him for a long moment before scoffing. "I cannot say I see the appeal."

He's not certain what he's referring to (the camp, _him_, the alien thing) so he says nothing, just frowns. They stare in mutual silence for a while, the likes of which is neither comfortable nor reassuring, and Bellamy shuffles on his feet.

"Were you serious," the man asks eventually, large and strong and dangerous, "when you spoke of taking the healer back with you?"

_Great, he's come to kill me._ He purses his lips. _All because they're overprotective, possessive bastards. _Everything Bellamy has taught himself tells him to hold his tongue here, to halt the flow of honesty that threatens to trickle out, yet he thinks of the anger in Clarke's eyes (and knows that she uses it to hide as well) and finds himself saying, "Yes."

"Whether she wants it or not?"

"Only if she wants it." Because that's the proper answer, the right thing to do (he'd never gotten rid of her voice in his head), but he's helpless to stop the additional, "Which she does."

"We have had her longer. An argument could be made for her being more _us_ than _you_."

Bellamy shoves his hands inside his pocket (and wishes he had brought a gun). "She can live with you lot for decades and still not belong to you."

"True." He says, and it isn't what Bellamy expected, it isn't that at _all_, and he raises his eyes in surprise. The man is not glaring at him but wears a look of consideration instead, although it is hard to tell with so much face paint.

"Come, spaceling." He says, starting to turn away. "Let us talk out a solution."

"A..._what_, where are you going?"

He is walking away, he is holding out hope and he is _walking away_. "A solution to your disagreement."

And he says no more, but he isn't walking _slow_, and what else is there to do?

Bellamy follows.

.

.

.

Clarke goes to bed angry, goes to bed angry for days and refuses to leave. She knows she has to do one last check up, to take Terri back with her, but she can put it off for a little bit so she does, because she is angry and hurt and tired.

She goes to bed angry, and wakes up with Bellamy in the village.

.

.

("What the _fuck_ are you doing here?"

He grins, hands out in a plea of complacency (a _false_ one). "I'm here to take you home.")

.

.


	5. pt 5

**AN: **Yet, despite all the worries, change remains the only constant

[thanks so much for being here for the ride; I'm usually terrible with deadlines, so this was a welcome surprise...keep tuned for a possible epilogue, in case tonight's episode forces my hand for a little bit of feel-good moments]

* * *

She wasn't shocked to find that Bellamy refused to take her _no_ as a final answer, because there were Clarke's wishes and what was Best For The Camp, and Bellamy was fantastic at prioritizing, but not so great at seeing the whole picture. So while she was aggravated to wake up and find that her two lives had decidedly _refused_ to cooperate with their separate existences, she wasn't surprised.

What _had_ thrown her was that when she did finally hear of the _alien_ in the village, the spaceling (the grounders' own name for the one hundred) who walked the streets in the early hours of the morning, it was _Bryant_ who was leading the way.

-Bryant, who had barely talked to her for her first month here, who only waited and watched and whispered to Terri and never showed any signs of wanting to _meddle_ and just, like, _seriously_

For all of her subsequent ranting and raving, there was nothing that had stopped the two from marching straight to Anya and asking for a _parley_.

("Just a few days Sir," Bryant had said, "to let them renegotiate their terms."

"Renegotiate what exactly?"

He glanced to Clarke, to Bellamy, back to Clarke, and Anya's eyes followed.

"Well," he shrugged, "things have changed.")

.

.

.

She grants them a few days, to work out some terms that perhaps might be fit, and sure, Clarke has spent her fair share of time with the leader of the grounders (approximation due to necessity, for heavy decisions required heavy political power) but she has hardly _endeared_ herself to the woman. That she would even entertain the notion of another solution is preposterous...it also makes Clarke's stomach twist up into knots so fierce that she has to let Bellamy follow her into her room, for fear she will otherwise hurl.

"This is ridiculous," she pants, hand on the wall and the other wrapped around her forehead, "this whole thing is just _crazy_."

"Woah, princess, just calm down - "

"_Calm down?_" She spins, propping her body on the wall with a heavy _thud. _"You've marched into their village with absolutely no weapons to speak of, declared yourself the de facto leader of an enemy camp, and you want me to _calm down_?"

"Yes, you're overreacting -"

"I'm not overreacting -"

"You kind of are actually."

"Bellamy _Blake_ I swear to _god_ -"

"You used to be so clear headed princess, what changed?"

"I - you, just..._ugh_," she glares at him and it's a dark look, "You're being suicidal."

"Well you're just being plain difficult."

"And you're just being an _asshole_!" She screeches. "Does it matter to you at _all_ that I said no? That I _made_ my decision to leave? Why does it _always_ have to be your way?"

"That not fair -"

"Why can't you just accept that I'm better off here?" And her voice threatens to break (threatens to break _her_).

"Because you _refuse_ to try!" He shouts back. "You refuse to even _consider_ another possibility!"

His chest is heaving and he's settled in to a familiar anger and it's _dumb_ this is all so _stupid_ and and _fucking Bellamy Blake_.

"I told you, I _can't_, I can't try and get back and just _fail_, and you're - you're _cruel_ to throw that in my face!"

"What's _cruel_ is leaving," he steps forward, "what's cruel is abandoning our people when there is even the slightest chance that you could come back -"

"There is _no chance!_" And to her utter horror her voice reaches a new pitch, it peaks and she peaks and then the reality settles in and punches her in the gut all over again; her breath is gone, it is just _gone_, and she drops her face to her hands.

"You're going to get yourself killed." She argues, voice muffled. But the fight is leaking out of her, everything is just so _futile_, and gods, if only that fucking _haoele _had stayed away from the fucking boar, none of this would be happening.

(a _mistake_, everything is just a _mistake_, she can't stop making them)

She can't see it, but she hears Bellamy walk a little closer, can hear the floorboards creak as he judges the distance between comforting presence and an object Clarke's all too eager to lash out at (_physically,_ she thinks to herself, _that I would physically lash out at_).

(she wasn't even sure she wanted him to see this side, the little shack attached to the med bay that was just barely big enough to fit a bed and her belongings, let alone two whole people, and now he is here and he is crowding her and he is _going to get himself killed_)

"Clarke," his voice is close to her (everything is close here), "you heard the grounder. It's a parley."

She peeks out form underneath her fingers, glaring balefully at him - he is propped up near the door, next to her bed. "You don't even know what that means."

But she's just so _tired_ and the barb holds no heat.

Bellamy shrugs. "Means that I'm safe, right?"

"For _now_."

"Until I leave." At her confused look he elaborates, "I asked your grounder friend about it."

"Bryant?"

"Sure. He says that a parley is for discussion between two leaders, even ones who are at war - which we aren't supposed to be, thanks to you." (he says it with bitterness, he has no _right_ to be bitter, she thinks)

And it's all technicalities and rules she is positive he doesn't understand and she scowls. "Why is he even helping you?"

This time Clarke can almost see the wall that tightens in Bellamy's face as he tries to keep his expression neutral. "Who knows. Maybe he's worried about you."

(she thinks back to the recent weeks, to angry tears and bitter lock-downs and all the times before this and thinks he may have a point; but _still_, the bodyguard-turned-tentative-friend is the last person she would peg to advocate for her release, and definitely doesn't suit the persona of someone who involves themselves in others' affairs - it's all so..._wrong)_

"We're barely even friends." she murmurs, because it is true, because maybe Bryant respects what she does and that goes a long way, but this just doesn't _sit_ well.

"You don't need to be friends to care about someone Clarke." And his voice is edgy and uncertain (definitely uncomfortable) and Clarke snorts at the implication.

"I'm sorry, are you talking about Bryant? Big and scary grounder fellow, who's forced to follow me around?" She snickers. "Yeah, no, we're not uh...involved."

Her laugh dies off quickly though, because she's flushed and shaking and kind of freaking out (she hasn't had a panic attack since she was knocked out and taken aside and asked to heal the impossible), and she gets up and flops down on the bed. Her room really _is_ tiny, only meant to allow her to sleep, because the rest of the house is for the sick and the injured and Clarke naps near the patients.

She fists her hands in the sheets and looks up at Bellamy. "It was stupid to come here."

He grimaces. "Yeah thanks, you've made that perfectly clear."

Silence follows his statement, because really, there isn't anything more for her to say. Sure, the parley system worked: two leaders could meet up and discuss terms, usually of surrender, although it worked in any situation, and regardless of the resolution, they would both be allowed to go their separate ways before any fighting could ensue. It ensured safety, but it gambled the results.

She thinks that it is noble for Bellamy to come, noble for him to trust in any of this, but it is downright _idiotic_.

(she breathes in deeply, _one, two_, and steadies her heart)

"If you offend them," she starts, and he glances to her, "you could start war all over again."

"If I get them to agree, you come back."

"I'm not worth that risk Bellamy," she frowns, "I never was."

The floor creaks, and he's moving towards her, moving to sit down next to her, and despite her shuffling he is too large and too graceless and they end up touching side to side, shoulder to hip. He angles his body towards hers. "I'm saying that we were wrong before."

She eyes him, and he continues, "Look, we would _never_ have let anyone else do what you did. You wouldn't have. You would have argued with me until I agreed to find another way."

It is a tired fight, but, "There _was_ no other way."

"There was no other way that was _easy_," he bites back, "but maybe there is now."

And she doesn't know what he's talking about, is exhausted and flushed and can only dig her knee further into his as she leans back and exhales. "What?"

"Princess," he says, and she rolls her eyes, "I have a plan."

(they're _so_ going to die)

.

.

.

It's a stupid plan.

"I think you're just afraid."

They're still sitting on her bed, except now it is the later half of the afternoon and they haven't really moved and Clarke is kind of hungry but she's more annoyed and skeptical and drained so she refuses to go anywhere. "Afraid of what exactly?"

He taps the inside of her knee, canting his head at her. "That it'll work. That it won't work. I don't know, you tell me."

She's stretched out on one end of the bed, knees propped up over Bellamy's legs, who is sitting adjacent to her. He is too tall for her tiny little room (the healer before her had been small as well, or otherwise really cramped all the time) and his legs hang over the side of her bed, feet brushing along the wooden floor, which is fine because his boots are kind of dirty anyway.

She scoffs. "They're both ridiculous."

(it isn't though, and she knows that he knows that, because if it _doesn't_ work that means she has hoped for nothing, and if it _does_ work...then everything changes

she isn't so sure she's good with changes)

He's drawing patterns on her kneecap now, small little swirls that dance down her shins, and says, "I won't let you lie to yourself. We don't do that to each other."

"There isn't a _we_ anymore."

When he glances to her it is with heat in his eyes, the hand on her stilling. "There could be."

"Could be a _we?"_

"An _us_, but yeah." He blinks away some of the intent, but the tension doesn't leave. "I've uh...I've really missed your input."

She can't help herself - she giggles. "Oh man, of all the times to not have a tape recorder."

"I'll deny it if you try and tell anyone." But now he is grinning and his grip loosens. "But you know, I mean..." he sighs, "it's easier being in charge when you're there with me."

(she's instantly brought back to _Lincoln _and to _fevers with blood, so much blood_ and yet she still smiles back)

"It was your idea actually," he says, "the plan."

"The stupid plan."

"The _brilliant_ plan." He goads, but when she inclines her head to tell him to go on, he continues, "you said that you couldn't live half here and half there."

She snorts. "So I tell you I _can't_ do something, and your 'brilliant' idea is to do exactly that?"

He grins. "Precisely."

.

(okay, it isn't the _dumbest_ plan)

.

.

.

They hammer out the details of it the next day, and if Clarke is swimming in barely suppressed panic, Bellamy stops prodding her about it. She knows it's only because she's agreed to talk about how to make this whole thing actually _work_ ("two minds are better than one princess, and all that") but she appreciates it all the same, since even though she is about to pass out from the adrenaline, at least, for a while, she can entertain the possibility of returning home.

(Bellamy is still an asshole for forcing her hand)

(He seems like less of an asshole when he finally dozes off, late the first evening, curled up near to her hip and for _once_ not talking)

The idea is actually pretty simple, and the motivation is (on the surface) unbiased: Clarke is an adequate healer, excellent really, if you compare her to the current pool of candidates, but she could be better...with some simple conversations with her mother. With communications to the Ark fully functional, Clarke would be given the opportunity to _learn_ again, to see new procedures and to ask questions about the wounds she has lost patients to, to minimize risks and increase success rates, and, and

well, it has potential.

She would _half and half_, as Bellamy says, spending part of her time back with the hundred, absorbing new information and recording new procedures, for the books she keeps stocked in the grounders' library. The rest of the time she would return to the village, continuing her duties as part of the original peace agreement.

-the only problem is that Bellamy is selfish, Bellamy is full of himself and insists on the plan somehow working Clarke _out_ from under the grounders' thumb

(secretly, she sort of hopes for it too)

.

.

Terri is the one who solves the conundrum, bounding in to Clarke's room on the second afternoon, limitless energy and wide smiles (she's always wanted to meet another spaceling). She throws open the door and grins broadly, even more so when she sees Clarke and Bellamy laid out next to each other, Clarke's firm leather boots tucked under a pillow tucked under Bellamy's head.

"Take me as the apprentice." She says, and when Clarke's eyebrows furrow she elaborates, "Take me with you when you go back, and I'll learn what you learn. I'll be like your...medical Bryant."

"Terri, have you been eavesdropping?"

"It isn't really eavesdropping when you two yell every other sentence."

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at Clarke, as if to say _she has a point_, and Clarke scowls at the both of them.

But when she glances back to Terri, she just..._understands_. Her jaw drops. "_Oh_. If I take you with me, you can be my watcher _and_ my replacement."

Terri nods excitedly. "I'll make sure you come back, and then I'll make sure you don't have to."

.

.

("Why are you doing all of this?"

"Don't you consider us friends Clarke?"

"I, uh...well, I guess..." she stutters in the face of utter honesty, "_yeah_, I do."

Terri chuckles and adds, "Besides, now that I've wheedled you out of the way, I'll get Bryant as a bodyguard."

Clarke blinks for a moment and processes (slowly).

Then...

"Oh my god!" She laughs. "So _that's_ why he was being so helpful."

Terri's skin flushes. "Yeah, well, I suppose I should thank you and all, for being a bit of an ignorant matchmaker. It's only right I return the favor."

It's Bellamy who clears his throat and draws attention, and honestly, Clarke had almost forgotten he was there. "Return the favor _how_?"

Terri only grins.)

.

.

.

Anya is unsurprised by the request, and oddly enough, she is not exactly resistant to it either. Clarke chalks it up to the whole _loyalty_ issue, and surely Terri would make a better permanent healer than a captive spaceling ever would, but she doesn't ask because she doesn't want to press her luck.

The only small issue comes when Terri talks about leaving.

"Your kind has a bad history with my people in its walls." Anya states, and though her voice is steady the accusation is still there.

Clarke knows better than to try and argue their past actions. "True. But allow us to do better. I won't let any harm come to Terri, you know that."

She cants her head and says nothing.

When the silence stretches on for too long Clarke adds, hesitant, "It's a better chance at peace. Integration of at least some of our people would get rid of the fear that comes with misunderstanding."

"At the risk of _lives_."

"You have my word that they won't hurt your people, as long as they come in peace." Bellamy states, angling his body slightly in front of Clarke's.

"_Your_ word means little to me," Anya says, the derision strong in her tone, then looks to Clarke, "but hers does."

(she'd stayed her for more than a year, had kept her nose down and _never_ argued her situation, not before this, and it had felt like submission and obedience and never really sat right with her, but it had been her _word_, and that meant something here)

Anya looks and considers and scowls, which is really just her natural facial expression, and Clarke shifts on her feet and tries not to be nervous.

"If I say no, will you stay here? Permanently?" She asks.

Bellamy looks ready to charge, but he holds his tongue. Clarke takes a deep breath in, tucks _honor _next to _wistful thinking _in her mouth, then nods. "I will."

Anya stares at her for a long moment, the flickering fire casting shadows into her face that makes it impossible to judge what she's thinking. Finally, she nods.

"You make fair points." She glances over to Terri, who had been silently observing the conversation. "You have agreed to these terms?"

The little healer nods. "They are acceptable."

(she is so much more demure, Clarke thinks, the little _liar_, though it is a fond insult)

"And what of the apprentice you had?" Anya gestures to Bellamy. "The one who has replaced our healer."

He cocks his head and frowns, purses his lips and says nothing (because it is his _sister_, like, no way that would go).

Clarke steps in front of him when the tension begins to run. "Why does she matter?"

"If I am to trust one of ours to your camp," and as she says this Clarke knows they're both thinking the same thing, the pounding _Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln_ deep in her head, "you must reciprocate."

And she's rushing to deny this, a clause that there is no way in hell Bellamy would accept, when he sidesteps her and just..._does_.

"Okay."

"_Okay_?"

He glances to Clarke. "Yes. I mean, it might not be _her_," he is unwilling to say her name, but he is _accepting_, "but we have a few medics, I can send someone."

She isn't willing to _lie_, so she asks, "Who?"

"Well Murphy ain't half bad..."

She lets out a puff of air. "_Right_, right..."

When they turn to Anya, the grounder Queen is nodding. "Then with this concludes the parley." She nods to Bellamy, "You may depart in the morning," then to Terri and Clarke, "and they shall follow in a fortnight."

It's incredible and unreal and _no way_, but Bellamy nods quickly as if to finish the deal, and rushes Clarke out of the war room, a firm hand on her back.

They make it as far as her room before he lets out a _whoop_ of joy.

("Feels good to win, doesn't it princess?")

(she doesn't disagree)

.

.

.

They wake with the sun (Terri had barged in shortly after the meeting had ended, dragging silent and slightly sullen Bryant behind her, and _way_ too much alcohol for one person) and Clarke leaves the two grounders snoozing in the makeshift cot of the med bay while she walks Bellamy out of the village.

It has been an emotionally charged few days (few _weeks_, she thinks) and when they finally make it to the gate Clarke can't help but grab Bellamy by the forearm, a nice reversal of roles because now she allows herself to be fearful _for_ him.

They stare at each other in the cooling sun of midwinter morning, and he lets her hold him close.

"I'll see you soon?" He asks, ducking his head down.

She tightens her lips and nods quickly. "Yeah. Okay."

"Okay?"

She hums a small agreement. And he leaves.

.

.

.

Fourteen days later, Clarke and Terri (and Bryant, of _course_) bundle up and follow suit, and Clarke packs pages upon pages of blank material, and Terri packs more booze ("Leftovers, Clarke, no one will miss it"). Bryant packs Terri, tucking more and more insulated material around her body until the poor child resembles a marshmallow, but Terri seems pleased and Bryant says nothing so she can only assume they're happy.

She's _nervous_, surprisingly so, about returning, and the journey there is mostly silent. The last time Clarke had seen the camp it had been made of haphazard tents and metal walls and could hardly stand up to one winter, let alone two, and she isn't sure what to expect from the place or from the people.

(when Octavia had been caught sympathizing with a grounder a smokehouse had been burnt down, Clarke had _lived_ with them, considered herself in some ways _still_ part of them, and she didn't know what that meant for her)

Their first sign of arrival is the wooden posts. The second is an _ear splitting _holler.

"It's Clarke!" Someone shouts, someone _tall_, and she glances and Bryant in order to glance at the right spot. "They're here!"

She's up in the tree, and it isn't who Clarke expected but somehow it _works_ when she leaps down in front of them. "Dude!" The girl – woman – grins, racing a few feet forward in the snow. "You're really back!"

Clarke takes off her mask and smiles. "Raven!"

She's wearing the same coat she'd come down in, although her hair hangs loose behind her instead of in the trademark ponytail Clarke had come to know – still, she is a familiar sight, and therefore a welcome one.

Raven goes in for a hug, but stops at the presence of the two people behind her. "And I guess this is the entourage?"

"Raven, meet Terri and Bryant."

"Yo." Raven nods.

Terri glances to Clarke, delight in her eyes. "Yo."

She laughs, and Raven does hug Clarke now, and given their history together it could be weird, but it comes off nice. When she steps back, hands deep in the pockets of her coat, she says, "Our all-mighty ruler stressed how _welcoming_ we have to be, so I'm here to escort you in."

Clarke raised an eyebrow. "Bellamy actually gave the orders to be nice?"

(of course, peace is tenuous, it makes sense for him to do so, but it feels good to be able to tease)

Raven chuckles. "I know. Clarke man, world's gone to shit with you gone."

"Well," she grins, "it's a good thing I'm back."

.

.

All of her uncertainties are dashed, rather violently, when the four of them walk into the inner perimeters of camp, and Clarke is _assaulted_ by people jostling to get close to her.

"Let me say hi – "

"You _barely_ knew her, c'mon, relax – "

"Oi, Griffin!"

"Look, let me _through_ – "

"_Clarke_."

It is the lowest call that gets her attention, and she spins around and turns straight into Finn's embrace. "Finn!" She cries, and grips him back. He smells of fire smoke and trees and something entirely _him_, and she just _can't_ believe any of this.

"It's so good to _see_ you –"

"You too." She interrupts, stepping out of the hug but keeping her hands on his shoulders. "The last time I saw you…"

(being pulled apart, ripped away with the thought that _this is the end_ firmly in her chest)

"I was being 'put down'." He grimaces. "I know."

They have a moment to take the memory in, then she lets Finn go with a small smile. "It is _so_ great to see you." She echoes, and blinks back tears.

Before she truly loses herself in the rumination she is being turned around to the next friendly face (it's Monty and Jasper; she can barely breathe after the _tackle_ she gets from the both of them) and it's a crowd of people who are rejoicing in her return, and suddenly all the fights with Bellamy seem so _silly_, that she was fighting returning to this, even for a moment.

Then, someone yells out _homecoming_ _party_, and it's probably Jasper, and Terri's hand is on her arm and she is wide eyed and smiling.

"_Told_ you the alcohol would come in handy."

.

.

(it does, if only because Clarke, moonshine in hand and deep in conversation with _Murphy_, eventually spots Terri in the midst of the hundred, utterly fascinated…

-by a _drinking_ game)

.

She tracks down Bellamy later into the evening, slightly tipsy and definitely loose-lipped (due in part to the liquor Terri keeps sending her way, but mostly due to the heady rush of _home_ she feels).

"This," she gestures around her, to the house (it is too cold to drink outside) and to the people inside, "is _amazing_."

He smiles down at her and it is so _warm_ and full of…_something_ indescribable.

"You look good here."

She closes her eyes and grins. "I _feel_ good here."

When she opens her eyes again his face is inextricably close to hers, and she can feel his breath on her cheek.

He doesn't move closer though.

"Good."

.

.

(it is the second time in so many weeks that Clarke wakes up with a hangover, and that is two times too many, she thinks, blinking blearily around her, because surely there must be a herbal remedy out there - no _way_ have people been experiencing this for centuries without coming up with _some_ type of cure;

she reclines further into the sofa she had claimed the night before - repurposed, according to Octavia - and bumps into another body...and thinks maybe the cure is to just _stop_)

The adjustment to the new schedule is daunting at first, but almost as soon as celebrations end Clarke forces herself to get to the actual work. She has a headache the size of Jupiter and a stiff spine from sleeping in the same position all night long, but she hauls her body into the drop ship and begins to poke around.

To her great relief things haven't changed _that_ much, and while the makeshift operating table has been moved, and some of the supplies organized, she can still figure out the basic layout. Finn pops by late in the morning and they catch up while she preps, him with some sort of coffee-knockoff and her with the largest vat of herbal tea _ever_, and she learns about all of the details of her year away that Bellamy had missed. How Octavia was the one to finally convince her brother to let Murphy train with her, about the town nearby that they stumbled across during some exploration mission (and the library they had found, how they were slowly transferring books back to the camp), and the new communication system he and Raven were working on. Bellamy and Jasper had told her about the people she had missed and so Finn told her about the camp.

(it was amazing, what they had done, in just a _year_, and they had been left on their own to a foreign land and they had _flourished _and Clarke finds herself unreasonably proud of that)

.

.

Her first conversation with her mother is long and emotionally filled (_dead_, run away, _Dad_, grounders), and takes the better part of an afternoon, and while the subsequent ones are not nearly so dramatic, they still take their toll. There is anatomy to relearn and basic chemical reactions she had never mastered, and that isn't even the _beginning_ or the actual procedures she needs to memorize.

(Clarke had been a medical apprentice for barely a year back on the Ark, and never had she been given so much information so intensively)

Terri is pulled away from what she refers to as _Spaceling 101_ to learn alongside Clarke, and Octavia and Murphy join up with them as soon as she's transcribed her mother's instructions onto two sheets of paper. She gives one set to Octavia and the other to Terri, and predictably it is in this manner that the two girls become Clarke's shadows.

.

.

Bellamy seeks her out a few days later, and they have another argument about who decides who goes back with Clarke. She is all for whoever is willing, because it is kind of a daunting agreement, and Bellamy is firmly in the court of whoever is Not Octavia.

As with most cases regarding his sister and danger, Bellamy becomes upset, Octavia refuses to talk to him, and the second Cold War ensues…only now Clarke plays peacemaker between the two.

("You have to let her make her own decisions. I'll watch out for her.")

("I wanted someone to watch out for _you._")

.

.

(It is Octavia who comes back with her)

.

The grounder village is rather accepting of the new spacelings, although at first it is only those who have chosen to befriend Clarke that also choose to talk to Octavia. The seamstress comes round Clarke's hut and gives the young girl a welcoming gift, soft leather edged in fur, and the mother of a young boy she had staved a fever off of drops by with lunch and kind words. By the third day there half of the village has wandered over to catch a glimpse of the newest _alien_, and thank gods it was Octavia who had come with her because Murphy would not be nearly so excited by his post tormentors as the youngest Blake was.

(at one point someone mention Lincoln and Clarke loses Octavia momentarily to reminiscing)

They find their pace fairly quickly (there's something to be said about learning on your feet) and it becomes a bit like the medical residencies of the old days, with a learning component happening at camp, and the practical application aspect back in the village (and how _practical_ it is, for spear wounds and poisonings and amputations are still rampant). Both of the girls have problems with something (Octavia is a fantastic learner, but a touch squeamish, and Terri is almost impossible to stop moving) but both are fast learners, and by spring they've made enough leaps and bounds to be considered capable in their own right.

-Anya is impressed, Anya who is fazed by _nothing_ tells Clarke _good job_ and maybe peace is possible if they just keep open hands.

.

.

She sleeps in the med bay, and at the village it is fine and Clarke becomes accustomed to Octavia curling up with her in the small little room, but on the drop ship it is a bit colder. There is no one to share body heat with and the walls are metal and the place is chilling and honestly a bit haunting and Clarke has trouble sleeping.

It doesn't take long for Octavia to say something to her brother, for barely a month into the new schedule he offers her a bed at his place ("Seriously, enough people live there already").

.

(once spring hits and everyone leaves, he invites her to stay)

.

.

When building can begin again her and Bellamy and Finn sit down and begin to allocate resources and people. Finn is the one overseeing the whole project and Bellamy is who gives the final go ahead, and Clarke feels like she is tagging along for the ride; that is until they get in a disagreement about whether a war room (suspiciously similar to Anya's) or an emergency shelter is top priority, and Clarke's argument _wins_.

Finn leaves to start work and Bellamy drops an arm around Clarke's waist.

"It's good to have you back princess."

.

.

.

Around summer time Clarke corners Monty and Jasper and drags them with her back to the grounders' village. Jasper doesn't stop touching his scar, and Monty stays glued to his side, but she manages to show them the wild flowers, and they agree to start something like it back at camp.

She also gets someone to explain the greenhouse system that the grounders use, because really, they might as well grow food too.

.

By mid summer (her _first_ summer with the hundred) Clarke's routine is pretty well developed - in the morning she talks to her mother, sometimes briefly, sometimes _way_ too deeply, and they bounce status reports off each other; by midafternoon she is either training Terri and Octavia (and Murphy, now, although he still refuses to go to the grounders' village with her) or helping with whatever the plan of the day is (sometimes building, sometimes cultivation, but mostly it is heavy labour and it keeps her mind occupied). In the early evening there's dinner and relaxation and a couple of them lounge about, by the new fields Monty and Jasper have been working on (when the weather calls for it), or near the large bonfire.

She finds a steady presence in Bellamy during these quiet times, his hand on her back or his shoulder next to hers as they unwind from the hectic lifestyle they've adopted, and whether it is a whispered conversation or a silent companionship, Clarke's comforted by the constancy.

-knowing that no matter what, so long as she's in camp, he's nearby, is both soothing and jilting, and she laughs to herself and murmurs _half and half_ and Bellamy catches it with a smile that stutters a bit too much.

.

.

(it isn't that she's skittish, although she kind of _is_, because she has already adapted to one new reality, and this might be one too many; she is just so _busy_ now, between teaching and practicing and reacquainting herself with the hundred and well…

Bellamy doesn't push)

.

.

Octavia _does_ though, and the protectiveness thing goes both ways.

"So. What's going on with you and my brother?"

Clarke splutters, coughing on the tea she is drinking (she'd fallen asleep on the couch in the counsel-room, the main lobby of the building Bellamy called his, and woken up to breakfast).

"I, uh…" she pulls up the blanket that was draped over top of her, "erm, morning Octavia."

The girl plops down next to Clarke, grabbing some of the covers so that they fold over top of her as well (and so that Clarke can't escape, she thinks mutinously). Besides, it isn't like the two of them don't share blankets all the time, given how small Clarke's stupid village bed is.

"C'mon Clarke, cough it up."

"Cough what up?"

She sighs, because Clarke is smart and brilliant (and like, a million other things, if her brother's gazes were anything to go by) and is definitely avoiding the question. "Are you keeping it a secret? Or do you two just not…_know_?"

"Octavia, it is way too early for this – "

"Because this here," she grasps at the blanket, a thick woolen piece that had been pilfered out of a bunker a few months ago, "is my brother's blanket."

"Is it."

"Yup. And I mean, I don't know how well you know him," at this Clarke lets out a deep sigh, a small grumble attached to the end of it, "but he doesn't just _give_ people his stuff."

"He hasn't _given _me it, I just fell asleep going over some of the reports."

"Mhmm. Reports." She snuggles closer (_what_, she likes Clarke) and presses, "Reports of meetings that my brother usually covets."

"Well they're reports on the camp, of course he's worried about them getting out."

"_Right_," Octavia says, turning slightly on the couch so her feet tuck under the other girl's, "and he gives them to you."

"Well he wants my opinion –"

"Exactly."

"Exactly what?"

Octavia reaches out and snags a piece of the weird fruit mixture Clarke had begun snacking on. "Clarke, pay attention to me."

Clarke blinks and maybe it _is_ too early for this, because she is slow to follow. "I wish I _could_."

"_What_," Octavia says, "is going on with you two?"

The blonde sinks further into the couch, her eyes raised to the ceiling. She lets out a deep breath but doesn't say anything, and it isn't until Octavia is halfway through her breakfast (Clarke's, technically) that the muffled groan of, "I have _no_ idea," comes through the pillow Clarke had dropped on her face.

(Octavia _would_ have sympathy for the girl, but it's been months of this weird back-and-forth thing and she's never really been the patient sort)

"Well, I think you should figure it out. Like soon." At Clarke's confused look, shot over the edge of the pillow, Octavia says, "Because there's that harvest festival coming up soon at the grounders' village, and you're going to invite him."

"Am I? Wait, how do you even know about that -"

"Oh _come on, _what do you think me and Terri do when you're working all morning?"

Clarke grumbles. "Well I had _hoped_ you'd be studying or something."

"Yeah, well, we also talk about this." Clarke keeps quiet for a moment and Octavia leans over, poking her with the edge of the spoon. "I know there's something going on. Besides, this is a win-win situation."

She pauses, and then..."How so?"

"Bell's the leader of this camp, so just tell him it's for the sake of peace."

"Yeah, he's _so_ into that stuff." But Clarke trails off, a considerate look on her face.

"Or you can just tell him you're all hot and bothered. Your choice."

"_Octavia_."

.

.

(but well...it isn't like she doesn't have a _point_)

.

He's been watching Clarke for long enough now that he recognizes her unease and lingering glances for what they are (not for fear and not for seduction but for an unasked need for discussion) and manages to fix a moment away so that they can talk alone. It is in the dim lighting of the moonlight and the fluorescents of the flora that he asks her what is wrong and finds out that for once everything is _right_.

"A festival."

She tucks an errant blonde strand back behind her ear and glances off towards the treeline. "It's a celebration of a long summer and hope for a good winter."

"But it's a party."

"Yeah, it's a party."

"And you want me to come with you? For fun?"

She bites her lip and digs her hands into her pockets. "It _will_ be fun."

"Clarke."

"Hmm?"

"Are you asking me out?"

Her eyes dart to his quick, and then promptly fail to leave. "I ah...no. No I'm..." she clears her throat, "Er, maybe."

"Maybe?" But he's grinning softly and leaning towards her and she nods.

"Okay, yes."

"Yes?"

"_Bellamy_."

"Princess."

She chuckles breathlessly and she still hasn't looked away and he never imagined, not even in his wildest dreams, that she would be looking at him like _this_ one day (like he has already won, like she looks at him and see the world and maybe that's just him projecting but maybe it's _not_). She's close enough that all he has to do is duck forward a bit and then his hands are on her hips and his forehead is touching hers and their breath intermingles but she doesn't close her eyes and all he can see is blue.

Her hands come up to rest on his shoulder, one carding into the hair at the nape of his neck and trailing fire. "So, Bellamy Blake." She says, and it's a quiet whisper but he hears it like a shout, "Do you want to crash a grounders' party with me?"

He drags one hand up her spine, pulling her _into_ him, and everything was worth it, every furious argument, every belligerent admission, if only for this, for her open smile and open heart. His hand stops at the base of her neck and her breath hitches and he can't help but say, "I thought you would never come around."

She starts to laugh but he catches it, lips crashing into hers (because he _has_ waited, feels like this has been coming ever since _I need you_) and hands turn demanding and rough and she pushes back _hard_, pushes into him, her hips stuttering into his and her mouth trailing back and the chuckle dies down, replaced by a soft groan.

His hands delver across her shoulders and hers tug at the hem of his shirt, and the steady beat of _finally, finally, finally_ sounds in his head, and then Clarke nips his bottom lip and he loses all coherent thought.

.

.

.

When Clarke and Bellamy don't show up for breakfast hand outs the next morning, Terri catches Octavia by the arm and her smirk is wide and telling.

"So you talked to her?"

Octavia snorts, nodding conspiratorially. "They'd never get anywhere without us."

.

.

The grounders' party happens without a hitch, and Octavia joins in with the women singing and Terri actually lays of the booze for once, huddled in Bryant's arms, and they eat and laugh and talk until the stars are out and the only light comes from the giant fire pit in the center of the village. It's a lot like fall nights back at camp and Bellamy actually manages to enjoy it.

Clarke is pulled this way and that by grounders who _insist_ on dancing (in the name of peace, they say, with barely apologetic glances to him) and it isn't just men but women, eager young children who no longer find her frightening that tug her around the village square. He watches as she tries to tear herself away from the seamstress and her children (who insist on teaching her the world's fastest spinning number). She spots him from a little ways away and heads toward him.

He can't stop the laugh that escapes him when she lands next to him with a graceless _thump_ and leans heavily into his side.

"I'm _exhausted_."

"You're having fun?"

She links her arm through his and nods, still chuckling.

"Did you ever imagine this?" She asks him a moment later, her face sweaty but her smile easy.

He stares at her for a moment, a helpless smile in response to hers growing on his face. "Imagine what?"

"_This_," she says again, and gestures to the singing and the dancing (and the drinking) that's going on around them, "that we would be here, that we would be_ welcomed_."

Her words rush over him, the _do better_ and _there's got to be another way_ and he thinks that maybe she knew all along. But he's looking at her and she's glowing from the firelight, glowing from the inside out, and when she glances back to him it lights him up.

"I didn't imagine any of this." He admits, pushing a piece of hair around her ear.

"Yeah, me neither."

He grins and drops his lips to her forehead. "It's not too bad though."

She laughs and shifts, twines her arm around his back, his curling around her shoulder, and looks out to the people around them.

"Yeah," she murmurs, and it's _happy_, "not too bad."

.

.

It is during the next winter (their third winter) that Terri completely takes over as the healer in the grounder village, and though Clarke is always welcomed, she no longer lives a week in and a week out. It is liberating in a way she never thought it would be, and though her goodbye is somewhat tearful, her welcome back at the camp is _so_ worth it.

(they really need to stop celebrating at some point)

.

(hours after the party has ended, when they're back in bed and everyone's asleep, she whispers "Thanks," and places a soft kiss between his shoulder blades)

(he turns in place and tugs her to him and murmurs some reply, and she adds, to herself, _for bringing me home_)

.

.

.


	6. epilogue

**AN:** I can't tell if this is an epilogue or an add-on, so I just...it fits into the right head-canon universe, so here it goes._  
_

(I wanted to write something funny and fluffy; please tune back in tomorrow for the prescribed dabbles of bloodshed and torment and leadership)

also, you guys have just been so nice and lovely and fab with the reviews and the kindswords, so since this is the end I wanted to say thanks and I love you

* * *

.

.

She stops drinking the moonshine.

It's a little change; barely noticeable, especially since it's the middle of winter already and she's always exhausted as it is – teenagers and the cold have never mixed well, and by this time in her life Clarke's become so proficient at treating frostbite she thinks she could do it in her sleep. She still goes to meetings, still laughs when Jasper passes out earlier than anyone else, curled around Bellamy's feet, still keeps pestering Raven to _just bring the kids over, just c'mon please_, but she doesn't drink.

The moonshine thing had started _years_ ago, in the later era of Clarke's _half and half_ life of obligation to the grounders, when she was living in what was still technically Bellamy's house but had always sort of been hers. The main area of the building was open to anyone and everyone of their ragtag bunch, and during the warmer months was just a place to hold meetings and air grievances. The group would eventually trickle away to their respective quarters, and Bellamy and Clarke would retire to the private room in the back of the building.

Once winter hit however, less people actually _left_ the house, because it was too cold, or too much work, or really just because it was more fun to spend the chilly nights in a group with a lot of body heat rather than on your lonesome. Monty had brewed a really great batch of moonshine at the time, and everyone began offering up their shares in exchange for the night of room and board.

(which was entirely unnecessary, since as Clarke had explained it wasn't like her and Bellamy were trying to kick them out, but once the younger of the kids fell asleep it became habit to get wasted while discussing construction plans, or why Murphy would look better with shorter hair, so the liquor became tradition)

It's been years now, something which had started kind of silly becoming firmly cemented in their routine, and they only bring it out in the really hard months, when crops have been bad or the seasons turn too much, so Clarke doesn't really worry about it. But even though winter is upon them, and a new clan to the east has come to town and they haven't proven themselves particularly friendly, Clarke declines a drink.

This is her first move, the one that says, _this might be real._

.

.

She's up late with one of the older girls, she's _always_ up late these days, since most of the camp is currently occupying her living room, and also because evidently she's earned some sort of credence over the years as a sympathetic shoulder, so she spends a lot of her nights tending to tears and drama. It's a bit of a change from all the winter ailments she's been dealing with lately, but given the nature of, well, _things_, she probably prefers the gossip.

Like how Ying and Tyler keep on breaking up and getting back together again, which is pissing of Lentil (which is a bit of an unfortunate name, not that Clarke would _ever_ say so), who's pining after Tyler. Or Ying. She can never keep that one straight.

Or that Jeremy plans on ambushing her in the spring to ask to go to the grounders' camp, either because (a) he wants to train with her and Terri, or (b) he's heard that they have better alcohol over there; the consensus on that is still undecided.

She gets a lot of security patrollers too, grown men who tower over her and need at least five minutes of silence before admitting that yes, they pissed off Bellamy, but it was for _perfectly _good reasons, _really_, and if she could just hear them out and maybe talk with him, that'd be great, thanks.

(The fact that she hasn't actually _talked_ to Bellamy, one on one, for weeks, doesn't escape her notice, because while she trifles in the sorrow and the pleas of their camp, mister big man himself likes to play matchmaker, or stir shit up in some attempt to resolve a problem, they only really see each other when they're exhausted and about to fall asleep, and it's always like this anyways, this time of year, it's not unusual;

Okay, she knows, she has half a mind of excuses, half of actual explanations, but mostly she thinks she's avoiding him because, like…

what would she even say?)

.

.

Octavia is the first to figure it out, because she has two kids now and knows how to spot bullshit.

They're in the med bay and she hands Clarke a mug of tea, something Terri's concocted to help with headaches (supposedly). Clarke hasn't really trusted Terri's 'quick-cures' since the whole _more is not necessarily better _issue of last year, which had left half of their camp and most of Anya's village in bed for a week.

It isn't until O says _hair of the dog_ and smiles with a secret that Clarke spits out her mouthful with alarming speed.

"Is there alcohol in this?" And her voice rises in panic, because she's already drank this stuff and it would be _just_ like Terri to put more booze in what was quickly becoming a hangover remedy.

Octavia's grin says it all as she asks, "Would that be a problem?" and Clarke understands that she's not as skilled of a liar as she'd like to be.

(the tea is made of mugwort and dandelion, which is when Clarke realizes that she's lost all her playing cards)

.

.

.

(It isn't until Jasper's gaze starts to linger, and Terri's visits become less of a _monthly_ thing and more of a _weekly_ one that Clarke accepts that Octavia is a big fat gossip, and shouldn't be trusted with the truth, even one which was sort of forced out of her in the first place.

She refuses to actually _say_ anything, choosing instead to level all offending parties with her most impressive of glares, and spends the next several days suturing with a little bit too much force.)

.

What follows is possible the least subtle of displays of aggravated care that Clarke has ever seen.

Monty offers to do her guard duties, which could have been sweet but was only smothering, especially when he says _no, for all of winter, Clarke you don't want to be out there in this weather_. Octavia all but moves into the lodge, pulling Lincoln, the twins, and half of her belongings with her, and begins to trail behind Clarke like she used to in the first years of medical training, except this time it isn't words of comfort that get whispered in her ear, but pushy reminders.

Things like, "Are you sure you should be handling that? Aren't you worried about contamination risks?" as Clarke catalogues the dusty inventory that they never really get to but always say they will, and "I told them to give you _tea_, ugh, here just let me fix that for you." as Clarke desperately attempts to hold onto her mug of, admittedly shitty, coffee.

Jasper's the worst of all, because he's always sort of been her and Bellamy's Official Child in the camp, and he keeps on finding excuses to get her alone – like, she doesn't need a guard to go get _water_, jesus, it's still within the perimeter for fucks sake – and then wants to talk names or plans and like _maybe I should move closer to you guys, just to help out_, and Clarke doesn't know how to deal with his excitement so she mostly just grumbles and makes him shovel the snow in front of her house.

(she's annoyed, not stupid)

But the crux of the whole thing is when _Bellamy_ pulls her aside and says, "I've had three people today ask me what I would've named Octavia if she were a boy. Do you know what that's about?", and Clarke can't do anything but huff and sip her tea and glower into the distance.

Or at least that's until she sort of raises her eyebrow at Bellamy and asks, "Y'know, for curiosity's sake, what _would_ you have named him?" and he just stares at her with wide eyes, really wide, _knowing_, eyes, so then she flees the scene.

(yeah, yeah, she knows)

.

Later she's talking to Octavia in the med bay, _away_ from prying ears, and Octavia sort of just grins and goes, "Clarke, he named me after the sister of a Roman Emperor, which is already really weird and super obscure. What makes you think you're getting away with something normal?"

"Uhm, I just had to talk a girl named _Balsam_ down from a panic attack, define normal."

They laugh, but it's so fucking _true_, Bellamy is like, the biggest history nerd ever. Whenever they have to leave camp for another city he always makes a point to raid their libraries, brings back medical books for her and then reveals an entire rucksack full of _look Clarke, the complete collection on the rise and fall of Palagonia, isn't that great_. Clarke's whole family history is made of simple names: Jake, Abbey, Clarke, a grandmother she sorta remembers named Shirley, but she'd probably compromise; she's definitely developed a fondness for Bell's name, and hell, even Octavia is kind of cute.

.

(but she isn't going to go for any _Brutus _or tragic emperors who died in a flame of glory, that's just morbid)

.

.

.

And okay. She's not dumb. In fact, she's fairly rational, for someone who got locked up in space and then propelled down to Earth, and had to develop a moral compass during times of warfare. Sure, she's less clinical than she might have been, had she stayed on the Ark, but she's not _witless_, she knows she'll have to actually tell someone at some point – Bellamy, for instant, might want to know.

It's just…the whole _anything-but-covert_ thing that the camp's got going on currently is equal parts hilarious and stifling, and the part of her that isn't amused by the _we all know we just won't say it_ mentality that's being passed around is kind of put out that her big moment has been taken away.

When Terri swings by camp, _again_, pulling Clarke up to the top level of the drop ship for some 'girl time' (her words) it's all she can do not to yell at her that _gods_, she knows, just drop the whole fucking charade already, please. But Clarke's wearing three layers of clothing at this point, partially because she's cold but mostly because she feels like a whale already, so she's embracing the hugeness now rather than later, and suffice it to say she's really too tired to protest, so up they go.

Terri locks the access panel, hands Clarke something hot and delicious, far better than whatever herbal remedy Octavia's put her on, and then proceeds to not say _anything_ for at least ten whole minutes.

(in Terri time this is no less than a miracle)

It kind of freaks her out, so she settles in the blankets they'd brought up and sighs, "Alright, c'mon, let's hear it."

Terri snickers. "You're looking...bundled."

It's true, between the bed and the blanket and the three jackets, she can barely move. "I'm warm."

"You're an idiot." Clarke says nothing, huffs, so Terri goes on (straight to the point as always). "He probably already knows."

(Bellamy's taken to coming up behind her during her shifts, hands on her hips, hands on her stomach, and has infuriatingly already taken away several of the more laborious tasks Clarke used to call hers, so _yeah_, she thinks he knows already.)

The attention is sometimes nice, especially when he fusses around her in the mornings, getting up and being all _no, no, you stay here, I'll get rations_, and _nah I got Murphy doing the morning route, you rest_, which she'll never admit to liking lest she risk incurring even _more_ of his protective streak. Mostly though she's annoyed that her big news was taken away so quickly, annoyed that she has to announce something everyone knows, and maybe, okay, a tiny bit concerned that if Bellamy _knows _knows, as opposed to suspects, she'll be on bed rest from the get go.

She tells all of this to Terri, because the years have taught her that Terri doesn't take _no_ for an answer, and it's silly to think she will.

"Yeah, okay. But you're not the only one involved here."

Clarke pouts. "You've always been his fan."

"I'm a fan of how happy he makes _you_," Terri says, in a moment of rare candour, "and I'm pretty sure he'd want to know."

"_Know _know?"

"Yes Clarke. _Know_ know."

Clarke can't help but giggle. "You say it often enough it sounds kind of silly, doesn't it? Know, know," she laughs, "know, know, know."

Terri mutters something about _women_ and _hormones_, but she's made her point she thinks, so they invite Murphy and Octavia up and the four of them spend the dwindling evenings on the top level of the drop ship, where there are beds and blankets and most importantly a stash of moonshine that they'd been stock-piling since the first year. Clarke keeps to the thermos of whatever Terri brought over, and they start a game of who-can-find-the-ugliest-thing-in-the-room.

(Terri wins, because she's got a liver of steel, and because she points to Murphy, and neither Octavia nor Clarke can stop laughing after that)

.

.

.

Right. So she tells Bellamy. But she doesn't go about it in the regular fashion because this whole shit-storm of a situation has been blown completely away from _normal_, and besides, where would the fun be in that?

Rather, like every other aspect of their lives, she sort of just…jumps into it.

"Are the freckles a male thing, or did Octavia just miss out on that one?"

Bellamy, who's currently got two hands on an axe and nowhere to go, stares at her. "What?"

"The freckles?" Clarke leans back against the bark of a tree, blinks slowly up at Bell's face. "I mean, no one in my family really ever had any."

"Had freckles?"

"Yeah. I mean no. And, about that name…"

"_Name_?"

She nods. "Yeah. I've decided that if you're really attached to the whole Roman Era thing, we can probably figure out a middle ground, but I'm putting my foot down right now. No plant names."

"_Plant_, Clarke, what are you on?" He glances down her body quickly, then back up to her face. "You haven't taken any strange food recently, have you?"

"Nope." She snickers. "Unless you count that hash Jasper's been making – "

"_Clarke_."

"Kidding!" She holds up her hands in the universal gesture, "I'm just joking Bell."

It's a serious enough retort, she thinks, gaze caught on white knuckles on wooden handle, but _honestly_, she loves Jasper, doesn't mean she'll ever trust what he cooks.

Bellamy's smiling now, slowly, eyes searching her face. "What's this about freckles?"

She shrugs. "What? I like them."

It's a bit difficult to move, there's at least two feet of snow and the small distance from him to her takes a few seconds, but Bellamy trudges over, putting the axe down on a nearby stump as he goes. Clarke's only response to the steady eye contact is a nudge with her hip the moment he gets close enough, which isn't even painful because they're both wearing enough layers to cushion an actual punch.

"Also, no spices." She continues, grinning. "Actually, nothing that can be literally interpreted as an item on Earth, maybe it was poetic on the Ark, but we're here now, so I think it's lost its value – "

Her words are cut off by Bellamy's lips, by Bellamy's hand in her hair, and the way he presses closer even as he pulls her to him, and then it's his breath hot on her cheek when he leans back and says, "Okay, no plant names."

She tugs him back down. "No _object_ names."

They're noses are touching, breath intermingling, the whole shebang, and so Clarke doesn't so much _see_ him smile as she feels it. They're quiet for a minute, just taking in the reality reflected in each other, and Bellamy's the first to say, "You're pregnant."

Clarke chuckles, triumphant.

"Yeah, no shit."

.

.

.

So, yeah, Bellamy _knows_ knows, and he absolutely becomes the over protective, hovering, father-to-be that she always suspected he would.

He tries to be stealthy about it, which is cute, so she deals with her surreptitious-helpers-but-really-couldn't-be-anything-but armed escorts that she finds following her around every day, or the fact that her meals are now hand-delivered to her. Like _literally, _someone walks up to her and just _gives _her food. She thinks that it should tug at that little insecure part of her that worries about the camp and the word _princess_ and all that entitlement, but really, everyone she knows is somehow involved in the game, and they won't stop _smiling_, so it's probably fine.

Besides, it's a sneaky way to get everyone to come along with her to visit Anya's village, because apparently it's _ridiculous_ to think she could go with anything less than ten guards (civilian ones, Bellamy swears).

(Bellamy lies, she thinks, but lets him get away with it)

Jasper actually does move closer, sometime in the spring, but it's partially to do with his new position as Best Bud Ever to Bellamy, so whatever. And Clarke finally convinces Octavia to go back to her house, pronto, because Lincoln needs to see his people, and it isn't like they can't visit; a suggestion Octavia takes very seriously, and she drops by at least twice a week, twins in tow, and turns into as much of a nag as Bellamy ever was.

("I would think," Clarke says, being forced to sit down _again_, "that with a brother like yours, the last thing you'd be is _smothering_."

Octavia smirks. "You thought wrong.")

Sometimes all the attention _is_ a little strong, it's all good stuff, a good year, actually, but she feels like a lethargic balloon by mid-summer, and all the staring is stressful. She spends most of her days in the med bay, reading over procedures and dealing with broken legs and stab wounds and everything else that comes alongside construction work, and at night Bellamy reads them stories of wars vanquished, of civilizations rising and falling, and all along the way humanity fights to survive.

("This is us fighting Clarke. This is how we live.")

.

.

(the baby comes late in June, a little girl with big blue eyes, and enough freckles to map a constellation,

they name her Charlotte)


End file.
